He smiles like Mona Lisa
by ohfuckthis
Summary: I dare not leave behind this world without commiting to paper the story that I have hidden for years. The treachery, decit, lies all must be confessed. So listen, my witness, to my trials and share my woe for a moment in time before the last leaf falls.
1. Attempt one

I sat looking at the Mona Lisa. She smiled at me in a away that made me shiver, her eyes were too much like his. They knew something I didn't. Such was my life, not too smart, not to pretty, just the love for art. I spoke French and English. English was my weak spot; it was a little too harsh for me. There was so much I didn't know. The mysteries that haunted me…no, no mysteries today, just me and Mona Lisa. My short, dull, brown hair fell over my face. I blinked twice. I allowed my gaze to sweep the area, no, I was safe here. Then he walked by. It was no coincidence that. He stopped and looked at the Mona Lisa; he was so close I could have touched him. His eyes were glued to hers; I saw the vague resemblance, in their stance, in their smiles. I stood and left.

I wandered down the roads of Paris pondering him. Who was he? Why was he following her? Was he following her? Why did he haunt her dreams? Why was he so familiar? Was could she never find a place that was away from him? Did he want to hurt her? Who was he?

I sat down at the nearest café and ordered a cup of coffee, black, I needed the energy. It had a lovely view of the river. I breathed in and out. He sat down with his bodyguard. They ordered a cup of earl grey and water. I stood to leave, first ticket out of Paris, I couldn't let him see me, as I left I looked back to see if he was watching me. He was, with a Mona Lisa smile on his face


	2. Attempt two

I have never been able to really understand the appeal of Mona Lisa.

I mean, really. It's a painting of a woman who isn't exactly smiling and went a little crazy with the tweezers. People are even questioning her gender for Pete's sake! Why then, is the painting so very prized and cherished?

Because of her/his/its reputation. I'm sure no one one hundred years ago would have considered buying the Mona Lisa for millions of dollars. But since then, the Mona Lisa has been involved in hundreds of plots and debuted in many different conspiracy theories until she became the legend she is today.

Not unlike the young man I was watching as he strolled around the gallery with his bodyguard. His intelligence, his craftiness, his power are nothing until he gains infamy for them. Infamy is a tricky thing. On one hand, it gains you respect. On the other, it makes you many enemies. I could only finger my handgun as he strolled behind me, lingering to gaze into the eyes of Mona Lisa, as if to ask her for the answer to some mystery. I half expected her to speak at his gaze. I know I could not have bore it for long. Instead, he made a hand motion that I would have missed if I had not been an expert. At this signal, all the lights went out for a brief moment. Blood thumping, I raced through to pitch hallways, knocking down tourists to try to catch my prey.

My prey? Hardly. Little did I know, but I was walking strait into his waiting arms.

In the Harsh Parisian sunlight, I'm afraid I stood out like a sore thumb. Dressed in loose and athletic black, sprinting to the café I knew was the Rendezvous point for the young man and his contact. There she was, the end of our fortunes, Le noire chat was perched delicately on the riverside, drawing visitors in with a cinnamon scent wafting on the wind. I claimed a small table by the window, sipping a small café au lait as I waited, calming my pounding heart with the soothing balm of rich coffee. My peace was not meant to last, for a pale youth and his faithful companion were entering the shop. I resisted the urge to fill the youth's chest with bullets while I could, but how could I escape alive? As I pondered this, I saw him hand an envelope to a tall, slender man who briskly strode out of the door and into the seething Parisian crowds. I stood to follow him, leaving a few euros on the table when I heard a cold voice by my ear.

"I would not interfere with my plans if I were you"  
"I live to interfere" I hissed, putting up a show of bravado and started to duck and weave away. My heart was pounding like a steel drum and my legs felt like jello. As I ran away, though I could not resist turning back and catching one last glimpse of Artemis Fowl smiling his Mona Lisa smile.

I do not own Artemis Fowl and his various associates. In fact, I would be rather afraid to. Neither do I own the Mona Lisa, Paris, or a Café known as le noir chat.

I hope you all enjoy my re-write of Mona Lisa.


	3. ANI suppose

2/24/2008

A/N:

To my dear, dear readers and my not-so dear readers,

As I have (slowly) gained reviews on the second chapter, I realize that I have caused bountiful confusion and some discrepancy. The first chapter was written 1-2 years ago, and was my very first posted item on When one glances at my meagre profile, I have no doubt this makes little impression, but I am a reader rather than a writer at heart.

I was perusing my profile awhile ago, deleting all the shit on there when I stumbled across this. My very first and very annoying plot bunny (that haunts me still) of Artemis Fowl smiling a Mona Lisa smile. Needless to say, chapter one is shit, so I decided to write a new version of it for as a whole and myself to continue to compare and contrast how I have improved over a period of time.

Now for a (very) short and (ridiculously) condensed FAQ(or comments):

Q: I don't get the plot!

A: There isn't meant to be one. It is all practice and plot bunnies.

Q: Update soon!

A: The whole spirit of this is to update rarely, so no.

Q: Chapter one sucks!

A: Yes, I know

Yes, yes. I am amazing!

…

Well maybe not, but I'm sorry for any inconvenience.


End file.
